 I am single and living alone.
I have friends who apologetically wince when they utter that statement, like it’s a source of shame. I own it, though. In fact, I practically squeal with joy when I share it, and pity the fool in earshot. Why? Because at 42 years old, this is the first time in my entire life that I’ve been completely, no-safety-net, bereft-of-responsibility-save-numero-uno, inde-fucking-pendent. It is damn liberating. See, I went from my parents’ house to the college dorm, then back to the parental units’ basement when I dropped out. At age 21, I met the man who would become my husband. We got an apartment together with two other roommates. When baby made three, the hubs and I moved to our own place.
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 Well people, the sun has risen over a new year, and it’s casting an exceptionally bright beam on my little corner of the world.
I have to say that 2014 was really, really good to me. So good in the work department, in fact, that I haven’t had the time or inclination to blog much in recent months. What a propitious problem to have. Personally, life is damn dandy, too. First, my 19-year-old son moved out on his own in October. I’ve enjoyed watching him acclimate to his newfound independence, make some valuable mistakes and develop crucial life skills. I’m so proud of his tenacity and work ethic.  There’s a relatively new aphorism circulating the interwebs lately that has gotten my attention. It says, simply, “Stop the glorification of busy.” After doing some cursory research, I gleaned that it was lifted from the headline of a blog written in reaction to a book published earlier this year by Arianna Huffington.
Frankly, I don’t give a rat’s ass where it came from, I only care that it perfectly captures my philosophy about work. Reflecting on the current state of my career is especially apropos because this week marks the second anniversary of my decision to start my own freelance writing and media consulting business. I didn’t quit my full-time job until about six months later, but that pivotal decision in September 2012 is the one that really set the wheels in motion for the career I have today. There were a lot of reasons I decided to venture out on my own — the potential to make more money, the freedom to choose who I work with and when, not being beholden to any one person or entity ... aka The Man — but the main reason was I wanted have a good life, not just a good job. See, I have always, always worked to live and not the other way around. Today, I love what I do, but it’s just work. I do it so that I can maintain a home and a lifestyle that make me happy. The work itself is not the source of my happiness. Never has been.  I think, quite possibly — maybe even very likely — I will have the opportunity to go to Florida for one whole week in October. WHEEEEEE!
This is a big deal because it will be my first real vacation since I started my business in September 2012. It will also be the first time I’ve visited a beach since — gasp! — 2009. Oh sweet Lord, has it really been that long? How did I let this happen? See, if I lived in a different era (and a different state), I would have totally been a beach bunny. I love, love LOVE the ocean. The sand, the sounds, the smell, the salt water … it is truly my own little slice of heaven. It doesn’t even matter which ocean, or which beach. I’ve been to Gulf Shores and Orange Beach in Alabama; Destin, Fort Walton Beach and Panama City in Florida; Baker and Stinson beaches in Northern California; and several breathtaking stretches of sand and surf on the island of Maui. I adored each one, but I’m not gonna lie — Maui far outpaced all the others. I will go back there someday, mark my words. My upcoming trip will be to Bonita Beach, near Fort Myers, Fla., and I can’t wait to perch my ass in the sand there for the first time.  This past weekend, I was honored to be one of the presenters at the Women Who Write conference. My topic was “Blogging … with Purpose.” I don’t know if a single soul got anything useful out of my talk, but no one fell asleep or walked out midway through, so as far as I am concerned, it was a success.
Now, I don’t pretend to be any kind of expert on blogging. I was very up front with the organizers about that little detail, and they still wanted me to impart what I know. This post is intended to be a summary of what I shared. I don’t make a living with this little blog. You may have noticed that I don’t sell any advertising on it. I have no objection to doing that, but I cannot imagine who would want to buy it, and I don’t have the time or inclination to find out. I’ve been blogging once a week for almost two years in this space, as an extension of my professional website. I also ghostblog (lookie there, I just made up a new word!) for several clients. (Side note: my audience this weekend was other writers, most of whom have never blogged, so I focused my presentation on tips that would help them launch their craft in an online forum. Blogging for business is a little bit different animal.)  As I sat down to write this on Sunday evening, I was really flippin’ ticked off.
I don’t make a statement like that very often these days. For one, I rarely feel that way. About anything. I am happy, content and serenely tolerant 99 percent of the time. OK, more like 90-ish. But that’s still a vast improvement over the me of five years ago. Two, anger feeds negativity and fear, neither of which I choose to invite into my life if I can possibly avoid them. See, it has been my experience that the root of my rage, ire, pissed-offed-ness … whatever… is always fear. Fear of the unknown, of failure, of being forced to relax my boundaries. And fear can be a paralyzing emotion. I’m annoyed because this coming week is going to be batshit crazy, and it didn’t have to be that way. Unfortunately, I am not master of the universe (or even MY little universe), so said craziness is beyond my control. I’ve accepted my powerlessness, but that doesn’t make it any easier to swallow. |
About Amy HiggsA former newspaper columnist, Amy takes her random, slice-of-life stories to the web. After 12 years, she's still just saying. Archives
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